Surprise Lestrade!
by HorribleHostess
Summary: 3 years after the Reichenbach Fall and Sherlock is not dead! John does not know whether to be angry, amused, or in love. Actually, the in love part comes later because this fic is not yet finished and is soon to be filled with Johnlock SLASH! goodness . Rated K Plus for now *SORRY- NO MORE UPDATES. WILL NOT BE FINISHED*


**Writer's Note: I do not own Sherlock. All credit goes to the rightful owners. No copyright infringement intended. Also I adore the show to bits and I hope you all like my fan fiction. **

John has that feeling again. Like he is constantly on the edge of sanity and there is only one thing that keeps him there. He can feel Sherlock. He doesn't know if it is in a ghostly, from-the-great-beyond way where Sherlock is just in his presence, or if he is just beyond his line of sight watching closely. Of course, the latter cannot be true, and the former seems unlikely. It has been three years and wishful thinking has gotten him nowhere.

He still lives at 221B Baker Street; Mrs. Hudson does not mind the late rent anymore. He has a new job that pays better, as well. He works in correspondence with a nursing home. Somehow seeing people die reminds him that Sherlock was only human. Death was nothing unnatural. No matter how hard he tries to save every patient, they are still broken, old, and worn-out. It reinforces his belief that he is a failure for not being able to save the one person that really mattered. He doesn't deserve the credit for fixing people.

John also has a dog, now. He got him a month after Sherlock died, and when he finally realized he was never coming back. He figured the dog could be of some comfort, kind of a replacement for the companionship he felt with Sherlock.

He has been asked out in a friendly sort of way by many people the past three years. They play it off as if he needs a drink to forget his problems. He won't let himself be lost in the alcohol, though. He hated Harry's drinking, and he couldn't do that to himself. He has never asked anyone out himself, though. Women no longer seem to be interested in him, and John does not think he deserves to be happy, anyway.

His psychiatrist gave him medication for depression, and he has not once taken it. He does, though, continue to write in his blog. It is filled with false sights of Sherlock and mentioning's of how his patients in the nursing home are doing. He wanders through the world as best he can, trying to forget his best friend and the war, but instead clings to the memories like a child to their abusive mother who they cannot do anything but love.

But now he can close his eyes and practically feel Sherlock standing next to him, waiting for him to see. John is at a train station, so it could be anyone standing next to him, waiting to buy a ticket to nowhere. He himself is off to visit his mother, who is also slipping from his grasp into the false reality of her dementia-ridden mind. He feels hopeless once more.

"One ticket to Staines, please," John tells the man behind the counter, and hands him his card.

"Make that two," A familiar voice creeps into John's head, but it is nothing more.

"Here you are, sir," The man hands back John's card, receipt and ticket.

"Thanks," he says, and withdraws himself from the line.

John walks into the crowd, and thinks to himself that he could have seen Sherlock and not even known it. A familiar scent rolls by. A quick turn of the heel and John follows his nose to the culprit, who is making a dash for a restroom door. John loses him in the crowd and mentally curses himself for being foolish. He goes back in the direction of his terminal with his head down. He wants no one to see the anger with himself building up over letting himself believe Sherlock was actually there.

Deep in thought, he bumps into someone.

* * *

Sherlock needs John. He needs him finally to tell him he needs him. Sherlock has finally collapsed Moriarty's network. Tomorrow it will be in the papers that, he, Sherlock Holmes, had been right all along. That Moriarty was real, and the name Sherlock Holmes should be celebrated in all of England- possibly even the world. But now he needs John to help him with the final piece of this delicate puzzle. John Watson and no one else must deliver this news to the world. John Watson has to be the one to tell everyone that Sherlock is not dead. This is for three reasons. One, he deserves it for all that he has done for Sherlock in his life, for being his friend. Two, Sherlock can always protect John, no matter what happens. If any goons come after him, Sherlock =will always be by his side or know exactly where he is- just as he has been for the last three years. Lastly, he trusts John.

He decided on the train station because he knows John is not actually looking forward to seeing his mother. Who would want to see someone that hurt them so much? What is the use of visiting someone who cannot even remember your name? That much is a mystery, but he guesses it is the nature of love. In any case, John won't be too disappointed.

He waits by a wall on the opposite end of the ticket counters. As soon as John leaves the line, Sherlock goes to the terminal where he is headed. Once there, he waits until John is within twenty yards, then he walks into him head-on. John will be startled, but they are in a public place. It will be perfect.

* * *

"Oh, sorry , sorry!" John says as he bumps into the man in front of him. He only just barely lifts himself up enough to look into the face of…. Before he can think of anything else, he faints.

"Woopsie, there, John, don't fall now… Oh great," Sherlock thinks out loud, "Uh, nobody panic. My friend here hasn't slept in days." By the look of it, it had been three days since the Doctor last made use of his bed. He had drunk coffee this morning, but it was not made well. Coffee pot needs replacing, but Sherlock suspects the tea kettle is in prefect shape.

He drags John over to a bench and tries slapping his face to get him to wake up.

John's eyes open slightly, "Nope, nope, no, this is not real. Please let this be real. I am so sorry, stranger, you must think I am nuts, falling unconscious. So sorry." He attempts to get up and walk away as briskly as possible, but Sherlock catches him by the arm.

"Really now, John, I thought you would be happy to see me." Sherlock exclaims.

"You're dead, Sherlock. You are dead, now stop talking," John answers, then says to himself, "Pull yourself together. You have not slept in days; hallucinations are nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe I can sleep on the train?"

"This is not a hallucination John," Sherlock says, annoyed.

"Then prove it," John turns to face the dead-but-not-dead Sherlock and stares into his eyes.

The eye contact bothers him a little bit, but regardless, Sherlock smiles. "Okay, then. Come here."

John steps a bit closer, "Yes, what now?"

Sherlock's smile widens; he spreads his arms and encircles his friend, "Oh how I have missed you, my dear Dr. Watson."

John stiffens, and tries to get out of the embrace. "Uh… Sherlock, I get the point. Because, unless you changed personalities while you were dead, this is uncomfortable for both of us."

"So you believe I am real then?" Sherlock asks as he breaks away.

"Yeah, but when I said to prove it I did not expect that. I thought you would have punched me in the face or something, because that is exactly what this encounter feels like," John replies.

"You're not happy to see me? Because, going by all those blog posts you wrote about me, I thought you would be. Quite honestly, I half expected you to kiss me or something dramatic like that, hence the hug."

"Kiss you? No. Fainting does seem equally as dramatic though, which is what I did, if that satisfies you." John's foul mood lightens as the shock sets in that the man he thought was dead for three years, the man he dreamt of meeting again, is standing in front of him. He starts laughing.

Sherlock smiles and laughs with him. It is heartwarming to see his friend happy, again. His heart skips a beat and he realizes he never thought about how happy it would make him to talk to John again. Sherlock reasons with himself, of course he would be happy, John is his friend; it is perfectly normal…. But the way his heart is racing is not, so he tries to put his feelings aside.

"Oh crap, what time is it?" The train John was supposed to take screeches to a halt too far from him to catch it in time.

"No worries, we can just go back to the flat. See your Mom another day. I want to see what kind of shape you have kept the place in, also maybe move my things back in as soon as possible. Thank you for putting them away for me, by the way."

"I knew somewhere in my heart you still had to be out there somewhere, I just knew it!" John stops thinking about everything and just falls into Sherlock's chest and wraps his arms around him.

Now it's Sherlock's turn to be caught off-guard, but instead of pulling away, he hugs back.

* * *

At the flat, John's dog Cap waits eagerly by the door for either Mrs. Hudson to come up and walk him or for John to return. Instead, a pair of unfamiliar footsteps walks up the stairs by his owner's normal ones and he starts barking. A new friend or perhaps an enemy is coming into his territory. He has to sound menacing! Cap's barks turn into growls as the two people stop in front of the door to turn the key.

His master's face has a smile on it! He barely ever gets to see those! Cap jumps up to lick John's face,and then quickly turns his attention to the stranger beside him. He must be a good guy, because he is smiling, too, and he smells oddly familiar, like the bedroom he is not allowed in, so he jumps on him.

"Oh, hello Cap! It is nice to finally be shaking your paw," Sherlock smiles.

"Down, Cap. Control yourself. Go lay down on your bed," John commands, "GO."

"This place really smells, John, but I guess I could not have expected much better."

"Would you like a cup of tea?" John asks.

"Sure, and biscuits if you have them."

"I'm not Mrs. Hudson, but I guess just this once."

Sherlock laughs to himself. It is decidedly nice to be back in his old flat, with his old friend. He knows things can now go back to the way they were, but John is expecting an explanation… however, his main concern is getting John ready to deliver the news to the press about his return.

"So, as you should have figured out by now, I am here for now a reason. Reasonably, you have already guessed that I was away for three years doing some very important business. The fact is, I single-handedly brought down Moriarty's entire network." Sherlock is feeling proud of himself, though he has no real reason to want to impress John.

The tea is ready and John hands a cup and a few biscuits to Sherlock, then sits in the chair opposite.

"So, does Lestrade and all them know you are alive, or am I keeping a previously thought to be dead criminal in my flat?" John asks, amused.

"Why, does that bother you?"

"Well, yes, if it means I might get arrested… So you mean no one else knows you're…"

"Alive, yes. Now here's the real fun part John- you get to tell them."

"Oh, so I get to incriminate myself by admitting I am harboring a wanted man in my flat!? Brilliant, you know it's what I have always wanted."

"Don't be an idiot, John. Why would I put you in danger like that?"

"Uh, I don't know. Why did you put a gun to my head and say I was your hostage? Why did you bring me with you on your investigations knowing I could be killed at any second? Why did you leave me alone when one of Moriarty's goons could have come up to my bedroom and slit my throat while I was asleep? Because I have had nightmares, you know. About a sniper shooting me out of nowhere, about being kidnapped and strangled to death, about you jumping off that building over and over again? I relive that moment almost every time I shut my eyes, Sherlock!"

"Don't be silly, you can't be kidnapped, you're a grown man."

"This is bonkers. You are an absolute loony. What is wrong with you? You know, I thought I was your best friend. Did you even care?"

"Well, seeing as you are not dead, yes I did care. Now will you stop being so childish and listen to me?"

"Okay, yeah. Fine, I can listen." John settles back into his chair and relaxes.

"Good, now I need you to send a text to Lestrade using my phone. He will recognize the number and immediately come over here. Tell him to come alone."

"He will bring the entire police force with him if I tell him to come alone."

"No he won't. He will think someone is playing a practical joke on him. He will come over here to check up on you and tell you that someone is using my old phone number to harass people."

"Okay. Then what? He walks in the door, and, 'surprise!' you're sitting in a chair perfectly fine and not at all dead?"

"Yes, now can you do it?"

"Finally back together again, and it is like a repeat of the first day I stepped foot on Baker Street."


End file.
